


Don't look back (in anger)

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Age Difference, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Pining, Power Dynamics, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7211018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a gift. He's not sure he wants it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't look back (in anger)

He can't look away.

The Director had sent him the file, the only comment being 'watch in private'. Alain has returned to his room, pressed play, and watched the Director's hand retreat from the Holo Caster placed surreptitiously on a shelf.

He doesn't know what the Professor would think of the camera. He suspects the Professor isn't thinking much of anything at all, other than the Director bending him over his desk, one hand leaving bruising marks on his hip, the other pressing his face against the smooth wood.

The wood muffles his words. Alain turns the volume up and strokes harder, faster, and his eyes are wide as he watches the Professor beg the Director to fuck him harder, faster, crying out, moaning, palms pressed flat against the desk, legs spread wide, tremors, shudders running through him.

Alain comes with one hand pressed hard against his lips; the Professor comes with a cry that makes Alain glad that it's night and no one is around to hear. The Director lets the Professor straighten up and dips his fingers into the mess on the wooden surface, pushing his fingers into the Professor's mouth, a dainty pink tongue licking them clean.

Alain licks his fingers clean and watches in glaze-eyed envy as the Director straightens the Professor's clothes, so delicately and gently, stares at the messy desk and wishes he had been there, stares at the desk and wonders who he envies more.

 

The Director asks no questions of Alain, simply gestures for him to follow.

Alain, the loyal Furfrou, trots after him and is unsurprised to find himself in a bedroom, is unsurprised at the wide-screen television showing the very beginning of the video.

He strips off.

It's the Professor's role he mimics, Alain's face pressed against red silk sheets (so cliched he almost wants to laugh, can't make any sound other than moaning) instead of solid wood, cries muffled against the cloth.

He can't look away from the screen as the Professor comes hard, and by now Alain knows every little sound, every little movement of muscles under smooth skin. He knows the way the Professor screws his eyes shut at the point of climax, at the way his nails dig in and the way his back arches. He could pick the Professor's cock out of a line-up (the part of his brain that's not focused on his own climax snorts at the absurdity of the idea), he is intimately familiar with the little bead of sweat that traces a line down his throat.

Alain sucks the Director's fingers clean, and the Director tells him to go and find the Professor.

 

The Professor's hug feels like a home he didn't know he was homesick for.

Alain buries his face against the crook of the Professor's neck, feels a kiss dropped into his hair, closes his eyes and presses another against the pulse he can feel beneath his lips.

The Professor shudders. Alain does not need to have his eyes open to recognize the flush that has crawled across his skin, the shudder that runs down his spine.

He explains his absence in a single word; the Director's name. The Professor nods once, and Alain thinks it might be sad.

Fucking the Professor is nothing like being fucked by the Director. The Professor gazes up at him the entire time, and Alain cannot look away, he could not look away if the world was ending, and it's nothing like a heavy hand pressing his face into the sheets (pressing the Professor's head against the desk).

The Director has already claimed Alain, has already claimed the Professor. They lay no claims upon each other.

He was sixteen when the Professor got the job, Alain gazing at his picture in the newspaper, pressing his thighs together and making an instant decision to apply for the starter program. He was seventeen when he received his Charmander, eighteen when he started working at the labs. He was nineteen when he walked away and only realized later what he was leaving behind; he's twenty and has what he left behind beneath him, stripped bare and panting sweetly and not looking away, not for a moment.

The Director didn't kiss him; the Director didn't kiss the Professor. The Professor kisses him, just once, just gently, and Alain leaves, he walks away and then he runs and he does not look back.

 

The Director brings him along the next time he pays a visit to the labs, in one of those times where he returns to his side between exploring with Mairin and Steven, in one of those times between his other duties.

Alain leans against the wall to support his trembling legs as he frantically strokes himself, and it feels so much better and worse than getting off to the same video recording over and over, because this time the Professor is watching him, is watching him and not looking away.

It's the Director who had told Alain to watch but not touch, the Director who had stripped the Professor of his lab coat and shirt and belt and pants, had cleared the desk so he could spread the Professor out on it like a feast, the Director who's already claimed them both and who is reiterating that claim once again, again and again.

Alain pays him no mind, and does not look away from the Professor.

When they finish, the Director nods his assent for the Professor to slip from the desk, wobbling over to Alain, dropping to his knees. He looks up, meets Alain's gaze, and does not break it as he delicately runs his tongue along Alain's cock.

Alain comes with a gasp over the Professor's face, then immediately reddens as the Director chuckles from nearby. The Professor only drops a kiss on Alain's hip bone, and smiles.

 

They start meeting again, the three of them. Ostensibly, it's to discuss scientific matters, to discuss the potentials for Mega Evolution, to discuss power and the uses thereof.

Power over one, power over two. The Director holds it to his heart like a shield; the Professor holds his in gaze, in the way he can make Alain - and the Director - leap at the chance to soothe him, touch him, make him feel good.

Alain does not think he has power, does not think he minds. He enjoys being malleable in the Director's hands; he enjoys the Professor stroking his hair after a particularly intense session.

Once, they blindfold him, and he jumps and shudders at each little touch, each burning kiss, every inch of skin aflame. More than once, he's bound, the Director smiling indulgently as he ties his cravat around Alain's wrist, loops the other end through his Mega Ring, and his hands itch with the desperate desire to touch and be touched.

Sometimes it's the Professor to be bound, to be blindfolded. The Director is gentle in those times, he and Alain working in concert to leave the Professor a shivering mess of pleasure; he is important to them both and they find shared delight in making him feel good.

Alain craves these sessions, these moments of pleasure and intimacy, the subtle battles they play, so much less and so much more complicated than their plans for the future, to save Kalos, to shape it, to make it something so very good.

Their work leaves him stressed and confused and worn out. The Director fucking him into the mattress with a handful of scarf to hold him in place is easy. The arch of the Professor's back beneath him is beautiful.

It's so much easier just to give in.

 

The Professor is gentle and soft. It shows in the way he calms down a frightened Pokemon, in the way he speaks to the children who come to him for a starter and a kind word, in the way he holds Alain when he's bruised and tired.

The Director is hard lines and hard gazes. He holds himself straight, like a man with the world already at his feet, like an army commander with all eyes upon him. His shoulders knot with tension.

The Professor eases out the knots and meets his gaze head on. Alain, once, looks at him in the eye.

It's a jarring experience. Alain believes the Director to be infallible, but in his eye, there is doubt. There is fear. He looks away, sharply.

Alain, once, kisses him on the mouth, and the Director pushes him back, the doubt and fear flaring briefly into panic before the wall slams down again.

Sometimes he thinks the Director might quite like him.

Sometimes he wonders.

There's a communication there he can't understand. Somewhere along the line, something has frayed and snapped while something else has unravelled as gently as a sigh. Something has been caught in the strings, caught and tangled so thoroughly that it will never be freed.

The Professor kisses him afterwards, long and slow and lingering, his fingertips resting against Alain's cheek and his hand so warm as he brushes the dampness away. He rests his forehead against Alain's, strokes back his sweaty hair.

It helps, a little.

 

The Professor ties the knots with a practiced hand, knowing how to make them not too tight, not too loose. The Director lets him.

Alain ties the blindfold. The Director lets him.

The Professor reaches for him; Alain climbs into his lap and buries his face in the crook of the Professor's shoulder, and the Professor kisses his hair.

The Professor's instructions are whispered, punctuated by kisses to the shell of his ear, to his cheek, to his throat, to his mouth. Alain nods and closes his eyes.

This is the Professor's gift. It's a gift and he doesn't want it. It's a gift and he takes it with both hands. It's a gift and he understands why he was given it. He will find his friends, he will travel, he will walk beneath the sun, and he will not let himself be bound any more.

He will not see them again.

Alain leans down to kiss the Director. The Director lets him.

The Mega Ring clicks as he removes it from his wrist. It does not make a sound when he places it on the Director's bare chest. A part of Alain wants it to, wants it to make the sound of forged iron falling from a great height, a resounding and final sound. He wants it to say Adieu, he wants it to say The End.

Alain leaves, he walks away and then he runs.

He does not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> *casually disregards TSME4*


End file.
